The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (17 page)

I felt that the condition of my health was not equal to the task of making a second attempt to climb over the Kon Gyu-i Kangri, and I continued the descent when I resumed my journey, with the
intention of taking a long rest at the foot of the mountain. After going down more than five miles I came to another mountain stream, and at the same time down again came the snow. I almost
trembled at a prospect of spending another perilous night in the snow. Just at that juncture I heard some clear, ringing sounds, as of a bird’s cry. Turning round, I saw seven or eight cranes
stalking along majestically in the shallow part of the river. Never before had I seen a sight so poetically picturesque, so representative of antique serenity. Some little time afterwards I
composed an
uta
in memory of that enchanting scene:

The river was about one hundred and twenty yards wide, and crossing it, I still proceeded down the incline. I had now come to the bottom of a valley, and I saw at a distance what I took for a
herd of yaks. But I had before been deceived quite often by exposed boulders and rocks which I had taken for yaks, and I was doubtful of my vision on that occasion. But presently I saw the dark
objects moving about, and I was sure that they were yaks. The discovery, wholly unexpected as it was, was delightful, for their presence implied that of some fellow-creatures in the neighborhood.
Coming up to the spot, I found that the herd consisted of about sixty yaks, attended by some herdsmen. On my questioning the men, they informed me that they had arrived at the spot the evening
before, and that a little further on I should come upon a little camp of four tents. Towards these I forthwith directed my steps.

My arrival in front of one of the tents was, as usual, hailed by a pack of barking dogs. I begged the occupants of the first tent for a night’s lodging, but met with a flat refusal.
Probably my appearance was against me: I had not shaved for two months, and my unkempt hair and beard no doubt made me look wild, while under-feeding and general exhaustion cannot have improved my
features. Still I pleaded for charity, but in vain. Dejectedly I moved to a second tent, but there too I received no better treatment. In fact the treatment was worse: for my urgent pleading, with
a detailed account of my sufferings during the previous eight days or so, only seemed to make the master of the tent turn colder, even to the extent of finally charging me with an intention to rob
him. That was enough. I turned away, and a great sadness came over me as I stood in the snow. My sheep bleated pitifully, and I felt like crying myself. A third tent stood near, but I could not
muster courage enough to repeat my request there. The sight of my sheep was melancholy in the extreme, and with an effort I made an appeal at the fourth and last tent. To my great joy, I met a
ready welcome. I was utterly tired out, but a quiet rest near a comfortable fire made me imagine the joys of paradise, and this I was allowed to enjoy all that evening and through the next day.
During that stay I occupied my time in writing down the twenty-six desires which I had formulated, with the hope of their accomplishment proving helpful to the spiritual need of others as well as
myself.

At five o’clock on the second morning I thanked my host for his hospitality and left him. I now proceeded due north and, after trudging over snow for nearly ten miles, I came out upon a
more or less grass-covered plain. By noon I had arrived near a pond, and there took my midday meal. A survey from that point snowed me that I had to cross a sandy desert, which appeared to be
larger in extent than the one I had traversed after crossing the Chema Yungdung. The thought of another sand-storm gave me new energy, born of fear, and I made no halt until I had walked quite out
of the desert.

AT THE SOURCE OF
THE INDUS

Sven Hedin

(1865–1952)

Hedin’s reputation as the greatest Central Asian explorer is unassailable. Over 40 years he criss-crossed Turkestan and Tibet finalizing their
geography. But, born in Stockholm, he had completed his education in Berlin and thereafter controversially espoused. German hegemonism. Ruthless treatment of his followers and a vainglorious
estimate of his achievements further alienated opinion. In 1907, having just reached the Tibetan source of the Brahmaputra, he sought out the nearby headwaters of the Indus and there betrayed
sentiments that contrast unfavourably with Wood’s at the source of the Oxus.

I
mmediately on my arrival in Khaleb I told the old gova, who had the hopeless and thankless task of watching my proceedings, that I now intended to
take the road past Singi-kabab, or the source of the Indus.

“If you go thither, Bombo,” he answered, “I shall at once send a courier to the Garpuns, the two chiefs in Gartok.”

“I do not think that the Garpuns will have any objection to my taking a more northerly route.”

“Oh yes, the Garpuns received orders from Lhasa five days ago to watch carefully that you followed no other way but the great highroad to Gartok. The Garpuns straightway sent couriers to
twelve different places – Parka, Misser, Purang, Singtod, and others – to make it known that you were not permitted to travel on byroads. If this letter had not reached me, I would
willingly have let you march northwards, but now I dare not for my own sake.”

“What would you do if I quietly disappeared one night? I can buy yaks in Tarchen, and then I shall not be dependent on those I have from you.”

Sven Hedin. From
Central Asia and Tibet Towards the Holy City of Lassa,
London, 1903.

“Yes, of course. A man lives in Tarchen who has sixty yaks, and will sell them as soon as he sees silver money. But I shall at once send word to the Garpuns, and they will send men after
you and force you to come back. To buy yaks would therefore be useless waste of money. However, if you like to let the main part of your caravan follow the high-road, and make yourself an excursion
of a couple of days northwards to the Singi-kabab, and then join your caravan again, I will put no obstacles in your way. But you do it at your own risk, and you will most certainly be caught
before you reach the source of the Indus.”

I was as much astonished as delighted by this sudden change in the attitude of the gova, and arranged with Robert that he should lead the main caravan in very short day’s marches to
Gartok, while I made as rapidly as possible for the source of the Indus. I took only as many things as a small leathern trunk would contain, and as companions only five men, among them Rabsang as
interpreter and Adul as cook, with our own six animals and three dogs, one of which, a new purchase, ran away on the first day. I had Robert’s small tent, and our arsenal consisted of two
guns and a revolver, for robbers were said to make the country very unsafe. I could not find a guide, but on the way to Diri-pu, where I encamped once more, I came across an old man from
Tok-jalung, who wished to make the round of Kailas thirteen times, and gave me much valuable information. But no money could induce him to accompany us farther.

On the 8th we continued our way through the valley that runs north-north-eastwards from Diri-pu to the Tseti-la. The stream, divided into many arms, was covered in the night by a thin coating of
ice, smooth as glass, where the water had run off, but it disappeared when day came. The valley is broad, and the road showed traces of considerable traffic, though we did not meet a soul. The
marmots whistled in front of their holes; the summer would soon be over for them. Kang-rinpoche can be seen from many places, and here pilgrims from the north have piled up cairns. Granite
predominates everywhere, but crystalline schists occur here and there. We followed the fresh tracks of three horsemen. The gradient became steeper and the scenery assumed more of an alpine
character. We mounted up among huge cones of detritus with babbling brooks of melted snow to the pass, which lay at a height of 18,465 feet. Its plateau is singularly flat. On its northern side
camp No. 234 was pitched.

In the evening Rabsang reported that our fuel gatherers had heard whistles, and that these signals had been answered from the other side. The men believed that there were robbers here, and did
not dare to sit outside by the fire lest they should be good marks for shots out of an ambush. I quieted them with the assurance that no robber would venture to attack a European, but gave orders
to the watchmen to keep an eye on our animals.

The night passed quietly and the minimum temperature went down to 16.2°; autumn was come again into dreary Tibet. I had supposed that the Tseti-la was the pass on the main divide, but we had
gone far when we saw its brook, which flowed northwards, make a bend to the west, and descend through a well-defined valley to the Dunglung. It therefore belongs to the catchment basin of the
Sutlej and not to the Indus, and the Tseti-la is a pass of secondary order. But we soon reached the actual pass, an extremely flat threshold. Here lies a small muddy lake drained by a brook issuing
from its eastern side, which we followed all day. This pass is the Tseti-lachen-la, and it is a water-parting between the Sutlej and the Indus. Its height is less than that of the Tseti-la, for it
is only 17,933 feet; it lies on the main chain of the Trans-Himalaya. Kailas, therefore, lies a good day’s journey south of the watershed of the two rivers, and belongs entirely to the basin
of the Sutlej.

From the lake we follow the little affluent of the Indus northwards. The ground is marshy and rough. Here and there are seen three hearthstones. A dead horse lies among the luxuriant grass. It
is singular that no nomads are encamped here. At length we see at a far distance quite down in the valley men going downstream with large flocks of sheep. Tundup Sonam and Ishe are sent after them,
and by degrees the rest of us come up with the party. They are nomads from Gertse, who have taken salt to Gyanima and are now transporting barley on their 500 sheep. All the valley is dotted over
with white sheep, which trip along actively, plucking the grass as they go. In front of us rises a steep purple mountain chain, and along the flank turned towards us the Indus is said to flow. We
joined the men of the sheep caravan and camped together with them. There were five of them, all armed with guns, and they said that the district was frequently haunted by robbers, who at times
seemed to vanish altogether, and then suddenly came down like a whirlwind, and no one knew whence they came.

Our camping-ground on the bank of the Indus (16,663 feet) is called Singi-buk. Eastwards the valley is broad and open, but the Indus itself is here an insignificant stream. I was therefore not
astonished when I heard that it was only a short day’s journey to the source, which, I was told, does not proceed from snow or a glacier, but springs up out of the ground. The men called the
river the Singi-tsangpo, or Singi-kamba, and the source itself Singi-kabab, though we afterwards heard the word pronounced Senge more frequently than Singi.

It turned out that one of the five men knew all about us. He was a brother of the Lobsang Tsering on the Dungtse-tso who had sold us three yaks the winter before. It was a singular chance that
we should fall in with him. He said he had heard how well we had treated his brother, and offered us his services – for a good reward, of course. As he had travelled several times through
this region, quite unknown to Europeans, and was acquainted with all the passes, roads, and valleys, I thought he would be very valuable to me, and I proposed to give him 7 rupees a day, that is
about half a month’s pay of one of my Ladakis. Of course he accepted the terms at once and soon became our intimate friend.

But these business matters were not yet settled. The man had a quantity of sheep and barley. He consented to let us eight sheep on hire, and sell us their loads, which would last our horses for
a week. He was to receive a rupee for the hire of each sheep, which was high, for a sheep is worth only 2 to 3 rupees. The old man would therefore receive 18 rupees every evening as long as he was
with us; but it was cheap after all, for the discovery of the source of the Indus was involved.

The large sheep-caravan had already started on September 10, when we, with our new guide, whose own
tsamba
was carried on a ninth sheep, followed in its track. After an hour’s march
we crossed a tributary, the Lungdep-chu, which comes from a valley in the south-east, with flattish mountains in the background.

A little farther up the Singi-kamba expands into a basin containing an abundance of medium-sized fish. As we passed, the fish were darting upstream in compact shoals, and passed a very shallow
place with slight swirls. Here Rabsang attacked them, but all his catch was only one small miserable fish. Then we threw up a dam by the bank, with an opening on one side, and the men went into the
water and drove in the fish with shouts and splashing. Then the entrance was built up. After we had repeated this diversion three times, we had procured thirty-seven fine fish, and I was eager for
my dinner, which I usually looked forward to with some loathing, for the hard dried mutton had become thoroughly distasteful to me. Our old man, who sat and watched us, thought that we had taken
leave of our senses. Farther up, the fish were so crowded in a quiet pool that they made the water seem almost black with their dark backs.